


Broken Voice

by Merkwerkee



Series: Being Bruno Hamilton [23]
Category: Masters of the Metaverse
Genre: Asphyxiation, Gas - Freeform, Whumptober 2019, during his time in the Vietnam War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:07:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22855960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merkwerkee/pseuds/Merkwerkee
Summary: Someone cut quite the cheese, and nobody was happy to find this out
Series: Being Bruno Hamilton [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643020





	Broken Voice

There was something in the air.

Bruno coughed, the noise a hard, jagged sound that tore itself from his throat against his wishes. It cracked out into the sudden stillness around him and both Weber and Graves flinched at the noise. Tunstall looked like he was going to ask what was wrong before he coughed too, the noise jagged like a pane of broken glass. Both Graves and Weber joined in not a moment later, and the noise echoed off the nearby trees.

Bruno’s throat burned, like he’d just taken a breath of smoke and there was a strange, sharp chemical smell hanging in the air. He coughed again, and nearly missed Tunstall’s hand-signal to run like hell; he couldn’t manage more than a quick trot, the coughs tearing themselves from his chest throwing off his stride, and none of the others looked to be doing any better, though Graves had somehow managed to pull out in front.

Every breath tore at his throat and lungs, and Bruno breathed as shallowly as possible while he ran. There had been no warning; the mist had looked innocuous enough in the early morning light, and Tunstall had deemed the cover it provided enough advantage to offset the fact they’d be crossing open ground in the jungle. They were behind schedule, and none of them fancied walking back to the nearest base if their ride left without them.

It didn’t make any sense; chemical warfare had been banned several times over the years and that Agent Orange stuff had been removed from the Vietnam theater the year after he’d been shipped over. Whatever the hell was in that mist wasn’t something Bruno wanted to tangle with for very long; fortunately, it did peter out a few yards into he treeline and Bruno pulled a stop next to Graves, wheezing and coughing, with Tunstall and Weber somewhere off to his left. He looked back over the mist that glimmered innocently in the early morning sunlight, and realized the imperfections in the surface he’d taken to be hillocks were actually dead animals; whatever the stuff was, it wasn’t healthy.

All four of them spent the next few minutes getting their breath back, the surprisingly dry air crackling in their lungs as they wheezed. “The hell was that?” Weber croaked, putting voice to the thoughts in their collective heads. “My ex-girlfriend,” grunted Graves, and the other three took a moment to stare at him askance and he shrugged. “She had a thing for choking I didn’t appreciate, and I never want to see her again either.”

Tunstall rolled his eyes and pulled out his map. “Whatever the hell it is, it’s somebody else’s problem,” he said, voice scratchy as he notated the approximate location and hazard on the map before rolling it back up and shoving it in his pack. “We’ll pass it along and command can choose whether or not they wanna send a cleanup crew. Move out.”

Bruno pulled out his canteen as they started moving again, hoping the liquid would ease the knot in his chest. A few cautious sips did decrease the coughing somewhat, but not nearly so much as he had hoped. It felt like some kind of weight was sitting on his chest, and every time he took a deep breath the coughing threatened to return with a vengeance. He shared the canteen anyway, and both Tunstall and Graves gave him grateful nods while Weber just guzzled what was left.

It took them more than an hour before they found it. A road that was barely more than a dirt track with a truck sitting on it bearing the insignia of the 1st Marine Logistics division.

Their ride out.

The squad approached the truck warily, getting within ten yards of the thing before a head popped out of the back and yawned widely in his direction. “You’re a day laaaate,” yawned the fresh-faced corporal - Taggart, by his nametag - as he unfolded himself from the bed of the truck and stepped down onto the hard-packed earth. “What’s the pa-pa-paaaaassword?”

“Chartreuse,” Bruno grunted, and suppressed the impulse to wince. He sounded like he smoked twelve packs a day; what the hell had that shit done to him? Graves looked at him askance, but Weber was too busy coughing to add to the incredulity and Tunstall just flapped a hand at him.

Taggart didn’t seem to realize there was anything wrong and waved them lazily toward the truck. “One or two of you can ride up front with me if you want, or if you’d rather the bed’s probably still warm enough to sleep on though this road shakes you to shit. Dealer’s choice.” The man walked towards the front of the truck before any of them could answer and the four of them shared a look.

“Shotgun,” rasped Graves before anyone else could say anything, and headed for the front of the vehicle. Weber tried to object immediately, but couldn’t get out more than a furious squeak, which Graves ignored. Tunstall just watched him go and shrugged before leading the other two to the back of the truck.

Graves climbed into the cab beside Taggart, while the others piled into the bed and the man didn’t even wait for them to finish securing the canvas before he started the truck moving. Whatever he said was lost to the roar of the engine, and as the truck hit its first pothole Bruno resigned himself to a deeply unpleasant trip back to base.

It was going to be a long ride.


End file.
